Матильда

           Shecuttwothinslicesandthen,fromaplasticcontainer,shetooksomemargarineandspreaditonthebread.

           Margarine,Matildathought.Shereallymustbepoor.MissHoneyfoundatrayandonitsheputtwomugs,theteapot,thehalfbottleofmilkandaplatewiththetwoslicesofbread."I’mafraidIdon’thaveanysugar,"shesaid."Ineveruseit."

           "That’sallright,"Matildasaid.Inherwisdomsheseemedtobeawareofthedelicacyofthesituationandshewastakinggreatcarenottosayanythingtoembarrasshercompanion.

           "Let’shaveitinthesitting-room,"MissHoneysaid,pickingupthetrayandleadingthewayoutofthekitchenanddownthedarklittletunnelintotheroomatthefront.Matildafollowedher,butjustinsidethedoorwayoftheso-calledsitting-roomshestoppedandstaredaroundherinabsoluteamazement.Theroomwasassmallandsquareandbareasaprisoncell.Thepaledaylightthatenteredcamefromasingletinywindowinthefrontwall,buttherewerenocurtains.Theonlyobjectsintheentireroomweretwoupturnedwoodenboxestoserveaschairsandathirdboxbetweenthemforatable.Thatwasall.Therewerenopicturesonthewalls,nocarpetonthefloor,onlyroughunpolishedwoodenplanks,andthereweregapsbetweentheplankswheredustandbitsofgrimehadgathered.TheceilingwassolowthatwithajumpMatildacouldnearlytouchitwithherfinger-tips.Thewallswerewhitebutthewhitenessdidn’tlooklikepaint.Matildarubbedherpalmagainstitandawhitepowdercameoffontoherskin.